


Meet the Family - Boxing Day Edition

by anne_ammons



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Black Hermione Granger, Boxing Day, F/M, Guyana
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-28
Updated: 2019-12-28
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:02:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21994186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anne_ammons/pseuds/anne_ammons
Summary: In every new relationship, you have to meet the family sometime. Perhaps it's better to just rip the bandaid off and do it all at once?A look at Draco's first time meeting Hermione's extended family on her mother's side.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 12
Kudos: 123





	Meet the Family - Boxing Day Edition

**Author's Note:**

> Just a quick one-shot that popped in and asked to be written down. I've been thinking about Hermione being a part of different traditions and backgrounds that are consistent with canon, but different than the movies show us. Here's one take.

Boxing Day. The day after Christmas. Otherwise known as the day that Draco sat around recovering from the social obligations of the day prior. But, instead, this year found him dressed in Muggle garb, holding the hand of his witch, getting ready to subject himself to her family gathering. They had planned to not stay too long, but given it had been a few years since Hermione had seen her extended family, he wasn’t going to hold her to that.

Hermione took a deep breath, and raised her hand to knock on the door, but she paused one more time. “You sure you’re ready for this?” She looked up at Draco.

“Hermione. I’m fine. It’s just a family dinner.”

She smiled at him, but it looked a bit forced, almost like a grimace. He had no idea what she was worried about. He had already won over her father. Nothing could be more challenging than that. He could pretend to be a Muggle for a few hours. How hard could it be? And besides, if she had made it through Christmas dinner with his parents at the Manor, including his wandless, but still rather snippy father, he could certainly handle Boxing Day dinner with Hermione’s extended family.

The door opened, and a number of smells hit his nose all at once. The potion maker in him could pick out the smell of garlic. There was an undercurrent of curry that he recognized from Hermione’s parents’ house and other things he couldn’t place. And, there were a number of sounds - most likely a football match on the tele, lively music in the background and many voices.

“Oh ho…what have we here? Look what the cat dragged in!”

A pair of arms grabbed Hermione and pulled her inside. Draco just stood on the doorstep, not sure if he should follow along on wait for an invitation.

“Mione, it’s been way too long.” Hermione was being hugged tightly by a man whose upper arms looked to be the size of ham hocks. Draco tensed, but saw she wasn’t in any distress. Not that he could do much against this man without a wand.

“And who might this be?” Draco swallowed and saw both the owner of the arms and Hermione looking back at him, with Hermione grinning sheepishly.

“Clarence, this is my boyfriend, Draco. Draco, meet my cousin, Clarence.”

Draco still secretly thrilled at hearing her introduce him as her boyfriend. Had he been holding Hermione’s hand, he would have given it a squeeze.

“Boyfriend. You’re not old enough to have a boyfriend, ‘Mione.” Clarence gave Draco a once-over and furrowed his brow.

Draco stood rooted to the spot, unsure what he should say or do.

Hermione rolled her eyes, and reached out to him, taking his hand and pulling him into the foyer past Clarence. Draco did his best to hug the wall and stay out the reach of Clarence’s arms. He felt rather exposed to not be able to use his wand.

“Just ignore him, Draco. If it were up to Clarence, I’d still be in pigtails.”

“Damn straight. You should be.” Clarence grinned. “Now, let me take your coats. There are a lot of people waiting to say hello. Where’s your mum and dad?”

“Oh, they’ll be along shortly. Draco and I took the train. Mum was still working on the cake, so we left without them.” Actually, they had decided to Apparate because Draco still wasn’t the biggest fan of riding in cars, so Hermione had side-along Apparated them to a nearby spot and they had walked the few blocks from there.

“Ooh…Aunt Jean’s cake. I can’t wait. The only one who makes one better is Gran…and well, she can’t really make it anymore.” Clarence sighed.

“Where is she? In the kitchen?” Hermione wondered.

“No, probably in her room. She spends most of her time in there these days, listening to the tele.” Clarence responded. “You should head up...after you say hello to everyone.” He turned his grin to Draco. “Let me hang these up and I’ll be right there.”

Hermione and Draco entered the living room to alternating sounds of excitement and disappointment of a number of people crowded around the tele. Definitely football, Draco noted, thankful that he had watched enough with Hermione’s father to have a working knowledge of the game. If there was one thing that Muggles did that was just like the Wizarding World, it was a fanatical love of sport — although usually football in this case, rather than Quidditch.

Heads turned as they stepped in the room, with a chorus of “‘Mione!” Several people started towards the newcomers.

Draco turned and raised an eyebrow, whispering to Hermione. “Again with the ‘Mione? You don’t let anyone call you that.”

“It’s a family name. Forget you heard it. And you won’t say a word to Ron about it, if you know what’s good for you.” Hermione replied through gritted teeth.

“Hello, everyone! Happy Christmas!” She said to the room at large, taking turns greeting those in the room and introducing him to a host of cousins and uncles. There was no way to keep it all straight…at least he hoped she didn’t expect him to. Fortunately, most turned their attention back to the match after a series of polite hellos.

Draco saw Clarence enter the room and find a seat on the floor. “My mum will be quite miffed if you don’t go say hello.” He said to Hermione, raising his chin towards the back of the house. She started that way, Draco following close behind.

“Just like a little duckling.” He heard as they left the room. The corners of his mouth turned down for just a moment. Hermione gave no indication she had heard the comment, as they entered the kitchen.

The woman behind the stove put down the spoon she had been holding and crossed the room to greet them. “Hermione, love! It’s so good to see you!”

She embraced Hermione and Hermione hugged her tightly in return. Draco noted that this must be Jean’s sister, Helen, as the resemblance between the two was strong, although Helen’s hair was wrapped in a headscarf, so he couldn’t see if she had the same wild tresses that Hermione’s mum possessed and he had come to love on her daughter. He heard a throat clear from the other side of the kitchen and saw several women sitting at the table, two seemed to be prepping ingredients, although they had stopped to take in the new arrivals and one — the one who must have cleared her throat — looked at them brightly.

“Denise!’ Hermione exclaimed, turning to the sound. “I thought you had to work!”

“And miss seeing you? Not bloody likely!” A young woman with long braids rose from the table and grabbed Hermione, pulling her into a tight hug.

“Language,” the first woman scolded, and then turned to Draco. “And you must be Draco. Jean has mentioned you.”

He nodded affirmatively.

“I’m Helen, Jean’s sister.” She confirmed. “The rude one is my daughter, Denise. And this is Auntie Bea, my mother’s youngest sister, so Hermione’s great aunt, and this is Annette, my brother’s wife.”

At least this was a smaller group of people to keep straight.Annette nodded her head at him, while Auntie Bea just raised an eyebrow.

“Where are your parents, young lady?” Auntie Bea asked Hermione, as she bent down to kiss the older woman’s cheek. Aunt Bea’s voice was different. She clearly had an accent, unlike the rest of those he had met who had been born and raised in England.

“Oh…they’ll be along shortly.”

Draco noticed Hermione’s cheeks colored slightly.

The woman patted the seat next to her and looked at Draco expectantly. “Come, young man. Have a seat so we can be better acquainted.” “You,” she turned her attention to Hermione and pointed to the stove, “go help your aunt.”

Draco felt he had no choice but to take the empty seat beside her. He was starting to think that dinner at the Manor may have indeed been the easier part of the deal.

Hermione looked hesitant to leave him, but once Auntie Bea raised her eyebrow, she silently obeyed, joining her aunt.

He turned to find three sets of eyes on him. “Now, young man. What is your story? Tell me how you have come to know our Hermione. I find it hard to think that she has had time for frivolity in the midst of her studies.”

He heard Denise snigger, but didn’t dare turn his attention from his inquisitor.

At least this, he could answer. “Actually, Hermione and I met at school. I was second in our class…”

“Because Hermione was at the top.” Auntie Bea interrupted, stating as if she knew it was a fact.

“True.” Draco affirmed.

“And what do you do now?”

“I work in our family business.”

Auntie Bea again raised an eyebrow. “Oh? And what business is that? Would I have heard of it?”

“I would think not, but we have a number of real estate holdings in the London area.”

“But you’re not from London.” Aunt Helen added from the stove.

“No, I was raised in Wiltshire. My family has lived there for years.”

“My sister says your mother doesn’t cook. Is that true?”

“Aunt Helen!” Hermione exclaimed.

“Please, child.” Helen dismissed Hermione with a wave of her hand. She continued, explaining to the three women sitting around the table in an exaggerated whisper, “Jean says he comes from money.”

Auntie Bea turned back to him and gave him another look, this one a look of shock. “Is this true? Your mother can’t cook?”

“I’ve never seen my mother cook.” he admitted. “My parents have someone cook for us.” At least that was true. He couldn’t exactly tell them about the family’s elves who had been around longer than he had been alive.

The women all looked aghast. Annette shook her head. “That’s not the same.”

“Cooking is love, Draco, at least it is in our family.” Auntie Bea patted his hand.

Denise chimed in, ‘Well, you won’t go hungry around here. That’s for sure.” As if on cue, she grabbed a plate of small pastries and placed it in front of him. “Here, better get started.”

Hermione squealed and hurried over to take one. “Mmm….pine tarts. It’s been so long.” She groaned as she took a bite, gesturing to Draco to try one with her other hand.

“Well, if you came around more often…” Apparently, Auntie Bea was not one to mince words. “And if your parents hadn’t gotten that harebrained scheme to pack up and move to Australia. I still don’t know what got into them. If they wanted better weather, they could have just gone to Guyana for a visit.” She sucked her teeth for emphasis, as if daring anyone to disagree with her.

Draco saw Hermione wince. That was still a bit of a sore spot — and part of what their visit today was to try and remedy. Given everything that had happened in the Wizarding World, Hermione had done what she could to protect her parents, sending them halfway around the world to keep them safe. He had heard that story before, when he first met her parents. But, she had explained to him recently the problem with having erased her parents’ memories was the fact that they had a large extended family that didn’t quite understand the letters that Hermione had written on behalf of her parents explaining that they would be on an extended holiday. It didn’t make any sense to a family who prided themselves on hard work and education and valued family above all else. What about their dental practice? What about their family?

Thankfully the memory charms had been reversed, and while Hermione’s parents didn’t agree with what she had done, they understood her desire to keep them safe, but it meant almost a year of missing time with the rest of their family and having to craft and keep to a cover story. And, clearly, not everyone was past their absence yet.

Draco popped the last bit of the pine tart into his mouth. It was sweet and warm and tasted like pineapple. Hermione was watching to see if he liked it. Actually, it looked like all of the women in the kitchen were waiting for his reaction. He nodded in affirmation, “It’s very good.”

He reached for another one, but Annette smacked his hand and whisked the plate away. “Not now, you’ll spoil your dinner.” The women all laughed.

Denise rose from her seat and grasped Hermione’s hand, heading towards the kitchen door, motioning for him to follow. “Come on. Let’s show Draco around and we can check on Gran. I’m sure she knows he’s here.”

They found a number of children and teens crammed into a bedroom, crowded around a game console. Toys littered the floor. Denise announced, “Hermione’s here!” from the doorway and then stepped back into the hallway with Draco to avoid the crush that ensued.

“It’s been a while since she’s come around.” Denise explained. “We’ve all missed her.”

Draco nodded. He watched as Hermione made her way around the room greeting and hugging each of her cousins.

Denise looked from the scene in the room to the person standing next to her, “So, how big is your family, Draco?”

“I’m an only child, like Hermione. But…”

Denise chuckled, “You didn’t realize what you were getting into, did you?”

“In her defense, she tried to warn me. I just didn’t realize.”

“Ahh, you’ll be fine, Draco. I think you’ve met most of them now… at least the ones who are here today. Everybody but Gran.” She paused. “You must be important to her for her to bring you around.”

He looked at Hermione’s cousin. Her face was open and warm. “I hope so. She is an amazing person… Although, I must admit, I haven’t always realized it. We had a rocky start in school. Thankfully, we had the chance to start over and get it right.”

He felt Hermione’s arm slip around his. “More like he finally pulled the stick out of his arse andgave others a chance to get to know him as a person.” She corrected.

The corners of his mouth turned down in a mock pout. “Love, I may have been a right git when we met, but I was _not_ the only one with a stick.” He was smirking by the end.

Hermione swatted his arm and then pulled him away from the staircase. “The bathroom is over here.” She pointed, and then she stilled, as she reached another doorway. 

“Hello child.” He heard from inside the room. “Come give your Gran a hug, and introduce me to the handsome young man you brought with you.”

An older woman was seated in a chair facing the doorway. A small television was playing on the dresser, but the volume was turned mostly down.

Hermione rushed into the room, dropping to her knees in front of the woman. She was already small, and from the curve of her spine, it appeared that time had also taken its toll on her stature. She was wearing a colorful dress of sorts, like what Hermione’s mother called a “housecoat.” Her hair was completely white and was braided tightly against her scalp, a style Draco had seen Hermione sport when she wanted her hair “out of the way.” The woman’s skin was surprisingly wrinkle-free, although it had a few age spots. But her eyes were milky, as if they had a film over them. As Draco watched Hermione’s grandmother move her hands over Hermione’s face and hair, he realized that she must be blind.

He watched as Hermione laid her head in her grandmother’s lap, and shook softly. She must have started crying. “Come now, dear. This is no time for tears. It does my heart so much good to see you.” She patted Hermione’s back patiently and then looked towards the doorway once more.

“And you, young man, come sit and say hello.”

Denise gave him a little shove and whispered, “Good luck,” before turning back down the hallway.

Draco sat on the corner of the bed where Hermione’s grandmother had gestured. It was covered in a white knobby cotton spread. He had never seen anything like it. He ran his fingers over the pattern, as Hermione sat up and dried her eyes. She gave him a look that he couldn’t quite place.

“Gran, this is Draco. Draco, this is my grandmother.”

Her grandmother held a tiny, gnarled hand out towards Draco with her palm up. Draco deftly took her hand, but turned it over and raised it to his lips for a kiss, before gently placing her hand back in her lap.

Gran tittered. “Ah…now this one’s a gentleman. And British, too.” She reached her hand for his once more. This time he lightly placed his hand in hers, and she covered his hand with her other. Her hands were warm, as she moved her fingers over his hand, turning his hand this way and that, running her fingers against his palm, his fingers and nails. Eventually she just held his hand between hers, her cloudy gaze aimed at nothing in particular. She didn’t say anything else until she gave his hand a squeeze and let go.

He looked at Hermione quizzically and she responded with a shrug.

They heard a voice from downstairs. “‘Mione. Your parents are here. And help Gran down.”

Hermione stood and reached for her grandmother, who swatted away her hand. “You go on down. I’ll be right there. Your young man will bring me.”

Hermione looked at Draco who was the one to shrug this time. He stood and reached for Gran’s hand and she wrapped it around his arm and gave it a squeeze, as Hermione headed off to greet her parents.

“You need more meat on you, dear. Good thing you’re in the right place.” She stated, patting his arm.

Draco gave a small chuckle and led her through the doorway, being careful to walk slowly.

As they neared the bottom of the stairs, Draco felt, rather than saw, the eyes of Hermione’s family on him. He was too focused on helping Gran get to the bottom of the stairs. He looked up as they reached the bottom to see Hermione’s mother beaming at him and her father nod his head in approval. He vaguely registered that he must look completely out of place in the room, with a complete absence of melanin and pale hair, compared to the multitude of brown skin around him. Muggles paid far more attention to skin color than Wizards did, but from what Draco could tell, Hermione’s family was far more concerned with sharing their family traditions than anything else. He noted two flags on the wall — one British and the other, Guyanese, as he had seen a smaller version at Hermione’s house.

He remembered an earlier conversation around Hermione’s parents’ kitchen table, as he watched Hermione help her mother make roti — a circle of dough that was cooked on a skillet. Her mother clapped the rounds, as if she had been doing it forever. Hermione did not have the same technique, unless she used a cooling charm on her hands to protect them from the heat of the bread coming off of the griddle. The real magic happened when you used it to eat other things, like curry, which had become a personal favorite for him, after years of reasonably tasty, but not that interesting British food that the Malfoy elves made, with some French influences thrown in for good measure.

_“Ghana, right?”_

_“No, Guyana.” Hermione interrupted, “As in South America. I’ve told you this before.”_

_“I thought you said Ghana.”_

_“Wrong continent, Draco.” Hermione’s mother chuckled. “My parents both came to England after the war.”_

_“The Second World War… the Muggle one.” Hermione prompted._

_Yes, he knew, he had learned about it in the required Muggle Studies course during their Eighth Year. He shuddered to think of the atrocities that Muggles had come up with — it put their own history in the Wizarding World into greater perspective, choosing to persecute someone different than yourself because of their religion or nationality (or blood type, he thought darkly)._

_“They had known each other back at home, but met again here some years later, married and had a family. And here we are.” Hermione’s mother concluded._

_“But why come so far?’_

_Hermione’s mother explained, “England was the mother country to all its colonies. And it was where the opportunities were. There wouldn’t have been as much for them over there at that time... Not that the options were much better here, at least at first. There, before independence in 1970, you could be a domestic or serve in the civil service. Those were the primary options available, regardless of your ability. It was a meritocracy where the Brits carefully controlled who could do what. A lucky few got to travel to the US or the England each year to continue their studies, but by and large, it was a system set up where few could succeed.”_

_Draco again thought about the parallels to the Wizarding World and shook his head, knowing Hermione saw it, too. In fact, she had probably always seen it, which is why she fought so hard against being placed in any box, why she studied so hard, and always worked to defy expectations._

As Jean reached them, she took her mother’s hand and led her to sit down. Hermione came to stand next to him, leaning towards him slightly. “Okay?” She whispered.

Draco nodded once. While he wasn’t used to so many people in one space (unless it were one of Blaise’s infamous parties), he knew these people loved Hermione, and had so far made him feel rather welcome.

The two found a spot to sit down amid the pile of relatives assembled, Hermione pressing tightly against him to make room for them both on the couch, not that he minded.

“So Draco,” he heard from across the room and turned to look. It was Clarence, with a sly smile on his face. “Who do you like? Arsenal or Manchester?” Several heads turned to hear the answer.

Thankfully, the time he had spent with Hermione’s father, Richard, gave him a solid answer. He waved at the tele dismissively. “Actually, I’m a Chelsea fan. I only watch these two when I have to.” The room erupted in laughter and Richard gave him a grin and a thumbs up. Hermione just shook her head. You couldn’t go wrong by picking your girlfriend’s father’s favorite team. Draco was a Slytherin, after all.

He was saved from further football talk by Aunt Helen’s announcement that the meal was ready. All at once, there was a mass exodus towards the dining room, everyone jockeying to get a plate.

Draco recognized some of the dishes covering the dining room table, but not all, and he struggled to catch the names as Hermione told him what they were. She put a few things on his plate for him to try, as they went around the table, among them Dhal Puri explaining, “This is better than roti,” a taste of red snapper, and some little balls that sounded like “pulourie” along with some sauce that someone spooned onto his plate. He zeroed in on the curry and loaded some over the rice on his plate, along with a taste of the peas and rice (“It’s not rice and peas, regardless of what Dean says!” He could hear Hermione’s voice in his ear.) It was plenty, but he didn’t want to offend anyone and would somehow have to save room for dessert.

He headed back to the living room to sit down and wasn’t surprised for Jean to come tut-tutting after him, exclaiming that he needed a tray, and handing him the missing implement. Hermione slid her plate onto it as well, and then disappeared, coming back carefully carrying three drinks in her two hands. She set them down between them. “I wasn’t sure what you wanted, so I got several for you to try. This, she pointed to one glass with a brown liquid in it. “This one is Swank. It’s like lemonade, but better. It’s been a while since I’ve had it, since Mum doesn’t make it. She says it has too much sugar. This one,” pointing to a deep purple drink, “is sorrel. Mmm… so good. And this one…” she picked up the last one and took a sip, and then handed it to him to sample, “This is my uncle’s ginger beer. It’s a once a year treat.” Draco took a sip of the slightly fizzy drink, and found quite a bite from the ginger. It was slightly alcoholic, but also very tasty. Hermione set the cup back down. “Not too fast. It has more kick than you think.”

He dug in, carefully trying to avoid getting sauce on his jumper, using his roti to pick up curry and get it into his mouth the way Hermione had showed him the first time he had eaten it.

“The boy’s got good taste, Hermione.” Clarence called over the sound of plates clanking. “And he eats goat, too?” Draco stopped mid-swipe and looked up to see Clarence grinning at him from the other side of the couch. He turned to Hermione for confirmation, “Goat?”

She nodded her head. He hadn’t realized that, but he wasn’t going to let that stop him. He finished wrapping the next piece of meat and plopped it in his mouth, looking right at Clarence as he did so. The other man chuckled saying, “This one’s alright, ‘Mione,” as he turned his attention back to his own plate.

Draco sat back on the couch after finishing his plate. The house was much quieter now, other than the occasional remark about the ongoing match. Everyone’s attention was either still on their meals or reflecting on the feast they had just consumed. Hermione was deep in conversation with her cousin, Denise, sitting on her other side. Every now and then, she reached over an put her hand on his knee, as if reassuring herself that he was still there. All things considered, he understood the gesture. The road to where they were now had not been an easy one. He did the same thing often enough, especially when they were with a group of his friends. The next time she did it, he placed his hand over her own and squeezed it, as if to say, “I’m here and I’m not going anywhere.” She turned around gave him one of those smiles that lit up his world and returned to her conversation.

Eventually, he decided to excuse himself and head to the loo. On his way back, he passed the open doorway to Hermione’s grandmother’s room, and heard her call his name. He stopped and entered, finding her sitting in the same chair she had been in earlier. The tele was still on, although he wasn’t sure how she could hear it, given the volume was still turned way down.

“Come, come,” she exclaimed, patting the corner of the bed next to her seat once again. “We were interrupted and didn’t get a chance to talk before.”

He sat down facing her, wondering again how much she could see through the milky film. She reached for his hand once more.

“You and my granddaughter are very well suited.You may have different backgrounds, but you are similar in all the ways that matter, aren’t you?”

Draco furrowed his brow slightly… not that she would see, but didn’t respond.

“You’re both bright and you’re both different than most of those around you.” She chuckled and patted his hand. “I mean, if you are going to face the world, it’s probably better for all of us that you do it together, rather than on opposite sides, I think. She took one of her hands and placed it on his left forearm, where the remnants of his faded dark mark still sat covered by his sleeve.

Draco stilled. He wasn’t sure what was happening. It had to be just a coincidence. Hermione had told him that outside of her parents, no one in her family knew she was a witch. The International Statute of Secrecy required it, no matter the challenge it posed.

She leaned in towards him and dropped her voice. “I’m not one of you, but that doesn’t mean that I’m unaware. I’ve been around a long, long time, child. I’ve known people like you before. And while my eyes may not see so much these days, I can still sense someone who has gifts like yours, just like I knew Hermione had them when she was just a girl, long before her parents knew.” She patted his hand again.

Draco found it hard to hide his surprise. At least she couldn’t see the shock on his face. Was she saying what he thought she was?

She continued, “At home, many of us were in communion with nature and the spirits around us… at least until your people -- the Brits, that is -- outlawed it. We practiced the same things our ancestors did before they were brought to the New World in bondage.” Her face showed her distaste. “Although now most have lost their natural connection to the world around them. Some call it voo doo, and some think it is dark magic, but they don’t really know what dark magic is, do they, son?”

Draco gulped, not sure how to respond. “No, I don’t think so.”

“But that was never your choice, was it. I can sense the conflict that remains in you, still. You think you are unworthy of her love.”

She paused, waiting for him to respond, and he decided he had nothing to lose by being honest. “I wasn’t always kind to her. I have a lot to make up for.”

“I suspect you didn’t know any better at the time, child. Don’t let it burden you now. She would give you the moon and stars, if she could, and I sense you would do the same for her.”

“I would,” he replied firmly.

She reached her hand and placed it against the side of his face. “Then let your heart be free. Heaven knows there isn’t enough love in this world. I’m glad to know that Hermione has found someone who can love all of her. What more could one want?”

They both heard a throat clear from the doorway. Hermione was standing there looking at them with a plate of cake in her hand and an odd expression on her face.

“Gran, I brought you some cake. I was worried you had gotten lost, Draco.”

Her grandmother dropped her hand from his cheek, and her face lit up. “Is it Jean’s black cake?”

Hermione answered in the affirmative.

“Oh ho… we are all in for a treat. I missed this while your mother was gone. Annette’s cake is just not the same as far as I’m concerned. And you can tell her I said that!”Hermione laughed as she set the plate on her grandmother’s lap, placing the fork in her hand.

“And what have you been doing up here?” she turned and asked him brightly.

“Never you mind, dear. He was keeping me company. I was just telling your young man some tales of home, and he was kind enough to indulge the ramblings of an old woman.”

If Hermione was suspicious, she didn’t show it. He figured she would ask again later, if she were truly interested, but his story wouldn’t be any different than Gran’s had been. Some stories weren’t your own to tell, and if this woman had made it this far without Hermione knowing any differently, he guessed there might be a reason for it.

Hermione placed her hand on his shoulder. “We should get headed back. It’s a long ride to London.”

“Well, then. Come see me again soon, dear.” Gran reached out for Hermione, who bent down and gave her a kiss. The woman then reached a hand into her top and fished around, pulling out a folded bill, slipping it into Hermione’s hand. “Now, that one should say £20. Does it?”

Hermione hesitated, “Gran, that’s not necessary.”

The older woman was having none of it. “Nonsense. If your grandmother wants to give you money for a treat, you let her.”

Hermione gave Draco a look, as she slipped the bill into her back pocket, although all he saw was the same stubborn trait in both women.She bent down to give her grandmother another kiss.

“Thanks, Gran. I’ll come visit again soon.”

“I should hope, so, dear. And feel free to bring this young man with you. He needs more food.” She patted Draco’s arm and gave him one more squeeze.

As they headed downstairs, Aunt Helen was waiting with a bag, handing it off to them. “Here’s some for later. And, I packed some extra pine tarts for you, Draco,” she said with a smile.

They made their rounds, saying goodbye and making promises to be back sooner, rather than later, and Hermione made a plan with Denise to meet up in London in the coming weeks. As they neared the door, Hermione’s parents stood there waiting.

Her father eyed him carefully. “Not so bad, I hope. I know it can be a bit much.”

Draco shook his head. “I enjoyed meeting everyone.”

Her mother pulled him into a tight hug. “Thank you, Draco.” She looked at her daughter. “We’llstill see you for dinner next Sunday?”

“Wouldn’t miss it.” Hermione replied, as they headed out the door.

He transferred the bag of food into his other hand, so he could take her hand in his as they walked along the path in silence for a few minutes. Draco was still thinking about the conversation with Hermione’s grandmother.

As they neared the apparition point, she said quietly. “You okay?”

He squeezed her hand. “Of course. Although, you were right, dinner with my parents was definitely the easier one.”

She chuckled as he turned and gripped her and brought her close for a kiss. “Besides, I haven’t had any of your mum’s black cake yet. I’m hoping Aunt Helen packed us some dessert.”

Not, “your Aunt Helen,” but just “Aunt Helen.” It spoke volumes of things to come, rather than their rocky past.

He kissed her forehead and looked down at her. “Ready?” She simply nodded and he took her in his arms and Disapparated them towards home.


End file.
